Foundations
by Voyagerfictionfan
Summary: Following on from 'The House That we Built.' An exploration of what happened the morning after the night before.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a follow on to ' **The house that we built** ' and so to understand it, you may wish to read that first. __Paramount as always, owns everything except the plot :-)_

 _._

 **Foundations**

.

" _Breakfast_?"

In an attempt to break what has become a tense silence after their journey home, he raises his eyebrows kindly, at the same time placing the plate cautiously before her. Passing the cutlery, he tries for a smile, but she registers only a weary concern settling on his features. Sitting down opposite and starting to eat the eggs, he forks them efficiently into his mouth while she observes, regarding in detail, the damage done.

His expression may be diplomatic, but the newly formed creases around the heavily lidded eyes currently averted from hers and the pronounced lines around his mouth say otherwise. Coupled with the shadow of stubble gracing his cheeks and chin and his careworn shoulder slouch, he looks tired. She has spent hours enough by his side to have every contour memorised, from the wide, smooth forehead to those dark, telling eyes; stopping at a mouth easily tugged into a slight smile and the dimples that have bought him more than his fair share of female attention. His tattoo is a roadmap so familiar that when she closes her eyes she can see its every detail, no doubt he has her memorised too, although she feels the march of time has been kinder to him, resulting in nothing worse than salt and peppered hair and some distinguished grey at his temples.

A decade or so after they first met he is still tall, broad and striking.

She, on the other hand, knows only too well that their foray into the Delta Quadrant has physically taken its toll. Colouring her hair has become part of her regular routine and while she would never describe herself as vain, the softening of her jaw line mirrors that of her body as a whole. She doesn't entirely resent the extra pounds, she'll never admit it, but regaining her hips and increasing her bust by a good cup size has had the pleasant side effect of making her feel more feminine than she has in years. It is almost worth trading up a uniform size for civilian clothes with seams that she can actually fill. The thickening of her waist and arms is less welcome, she can remember the days when her stomach was defined by muscle with precious extra covering, but she supposes it comes with age and her current largely desk-bound existence.

It hadn't exactly come as a surprise when the senior Starfleet Doctor she had encountered on Earth had looked anxiously up at her from the PADD resting in his hands and sighed. After seven unrelenting years in command, she didn't have delusions of immortality, but apparently Voyager's EMH had developed a less than honest sub-routine, that or a penchant to lie by omission.

 _She hadn't asked._

The Physician had spoken slowly, almost entirely without inflexion, peppering his monologue with diagrams and charts to which she gave no more than a cursory glance. His primary concerns were in large part a result of far too long spent running on a mixture of adrenaline, caffeine and bloody mindedness to paraphrase Tom. It is thanks to that and possibly the well deserved Karma of the majority of a Captaincy spent avoiding Voyager's Sickbay, that she is now forced into bi-annual medicals which seem to get worse each time she attends. The last one, less than a month ago highlighted something that deepened the frown on the Physician's face and she duly ignored his mutterings about considering restricting her time on active duty.

Recalling this unpleasant afternoon reminds her that she is yet to book to attend for another battery of tests, it is a less than appealing thought and so she pushes it to the edge of her mind, currently having more pressing matters to attend to. Opposite her, an exhausted Chakotay stifles a yawn, she suspects that he isn't about to let her out of his sight and resigns herself to breakfast, or at the very least to pushing the food skilfully around her plate. It isn't difficult to recognise his emotional turbulence and right now doesn't take a Betazoid to determine that he is most likely thinking about what transpired. It wasn't strictly what she had intended, but Deanna just might have something to say about her subconscious desire to bring all of this to a head. Fortunately, now is not the time to talk further, she hasn't got the energy and it's obvious that he hasn't either.

In the midst of all this musing, he has stopped eating, watching her not eating and so summoning up all the enthusiasm she can, she retrieves her abandoned fork. After eggs, toast and coffee, they retire to his comfortable office. It is a room that despite herself, she likes - dreary and old fashioned is how Tom describes it, but it is reminiscent of her Grandfather's study with its heavy wooden furniture, worn couches and bookcases lined with colourful tomes. Some are replicated, but others are genuine antiques she has given him,gifts from the rare book fairs they frequent. Their favourite is in London on the banks of the River Thames and work permitting, it has become their tradition to visit around Christmas. Closing her eyes, she can almost feel the bitterly cold night air blowing across the water, chilling her cheeks and causing the strings of brightly coloured festive lights slung haphazardly along the concrete Embankment to swing, only adding to its strange urban charm.

Chakotay stretches out on the dark maroon couch, tucking his hands neatly behind his head as she sits curled up on the opposite armchair, still nursing her mug of coffee.

"Promise me you'll be here when I wake up?"

He softens the question with his trademark dimpled smile, but it still stings and rapidly tiring of explaining herself to him; to all of them, she fails to hold back a frown.

"I just needed some space Chakotay."

" _And now_?"

She expected this at some point, although she'd have taken later over sooner. His speciality - gently probing; open ended questions. Questions that ask far more than the mere sum of their words. Even with him, she has never been good at full disclosure; the intimacy it brings and after spending the greater part of the last ten years together, it is strange to have spent the majority of the last month trying to avoid him and his righteous anger. He continues to watch her and even though she tries to see something else, only his disappointment is clearly and crushingly visible. The question pointing to the current lack of trust between them, she resents being made to feel like a scolded teenager.

"And now, I need some more coffee."

Walking back into the kitchen, she catches a glimpse of his tanned fingers rubbing his furrowed forehead as his eyes begin to close.

 _Guilt._ _The familiar feeling is back and as she stands by the doors that open out onto the garden and watches the dawn sky slowly changing from a dark, inky grey to a soft, streaky violet, she wonders just when she will feel something else._

* * *

Chakotay sleeps deeply and doesn't wake when his door chimes. Kathryn is reluctant to answer the repeating call, Tom is the only person that she could reasonably expect to see and is not due until later. The media interest in _that_ mission and with it her career and life in general has peaked again and coupled with yesterday's events results in a feeling of acute wariness. Asking the computer to identify the caller, it is a surprise when the monotone voice states that it is one Lieutenant Thomas Paris. The first thing that greets her once he crosses the threshold is a bright smile, followed by a cautious hug and a critical eye.

"You didn't even attempt to use a dermal regenerator?"

Tutting, she brushes his cheeky comment away. "You're early Mister."

He nods, his hand finding the small of her back as they stand side-by-side in the hallway, "I can't stay, the flight school have called me in to evaluate a student, but I thought I'd drop in and fix you up first."

She starts to walk, beckoning him to follow. "Come through to the kitchen, Chakotay's sleeping in the office."

After offering coffee which Tom politely declines, she perches on a stool at the breakfast bar and submits. It has only been twenty-four hours give or take, but she is heartily sick of her aching face and throbbing jaw and of the pain that constricts her chest each time she inhales more than a mouse sized breath. Perhaps it has all served a purpose, forced her to confront her demons and amend a bad decision, albeit one taken for justifiable reasons.

Tom sets his Medkit precisely on the counter before slowly lifting his tricorder to scan her, eyebrows raising slightly in an unnecessary permission. There is a gentle concern in his eyes and he lets his hand linger on her shoulder. He is appraising her, trying to make sense of all of this, just as she had done the previous night. It is a strange turnaround, the erstwhile student now evaluating his mentor.

"I'm going to start with your head and jaw. Any pain, dizziness or blurred vision?"

She shakes her mildly pounding head. "Not really, but I think I cracked a tooth."

Features twisting into a grimace of sympathy, he places two fingers underneath her chin. "That will take a specialist I'm afraid. Well above my humble pay grade, while I'm at HQ, I'll see if I can book you an appointment with Dental."

Closing her eyes against the bright morning light now streaming through the window, she takes a second to enjoy its lingering warmth on her skin. Sunlight straight from Heaven as her mother used to say, capable of warming the coldest of hearts. Back on Earth she makes time to appreciate the newfound delights of real fresh air and sunshine, chin tilted to allow him access to her jaw, he nimbly tucks the strands of hair away from the area where he is starting to work.

"Anytime. Just do me a favour and don't ever do that to me again."

She knows this to be perfectly reasonable request, but it jars her pride and she chooses to deflect with an uncharacteristically glib attempt at sarcasm.

 _"What? Sit outside and enjoy the view?_ "

Refusing to play along, he steps directly into her eye line, casting a long, lean shadow, blocking out the comforting rays. He takes one of her hands and stooping slightly to bring his face close to level with hers, holds on just firmly enough to let her know that he's serious, that even to the self proclaimed king of one-liners, this is no joking matter.

"You shut me out Kathryn, shut us all out. We're a family and you don't get to do that anymore."

The honesty bites, a warm flush spreads across her chest and upwards and she manages the smallest of nods. She is saved from the need to say anything further as he spins her around to examine the lump on the back of her head, carefully angling her chin downwards which causes her to close her eyes against a wave of dizziness. A silence hangs between them during which time she inches her left hand sideways until her fingers find a kitchen cabinet. Palm braced against the solid, grainy wood she is able to stay upright by focussing on a single point on the slate floor until the rolling sensation passes. He continues to work in silence and then squeezes her shoulder lightly, his way of saying that he accepts her unspoken apology. Between Tom and her more often than not, it is about what is left unspoken and he knows that just as well as she does.

Attempting to lower her defences, she drops her shoulders a little as he pronounces her head wound healed.

"Permission to check your ribs? I have to warn you though, I have horribly cold hands."

His voice has regained a cheerful quality and she unbuttons her navy shirt. As soon as the soft fabric falls open however, she begins to feel uneasy, in all their years aboard Voyager, she had come around in Sickbay fairly regularly without really giving much thought to just how much Tom or the EMH had seen, back then it was part of her job and of theirs. You were injured and then you were fixed and then it was over. Now though, she feels a shade less than exposed as Tom's hands carefully slide her open shirt from her shoulders until it forms a crumpled heap of soft material pooled in her lap. Balling the fabric into the palms of her hands, she holds on tightly, an unpleasant sense of shame building. The fresh, red-purple bruises track almost the entire circumference of her torso, starting on her slightly softer stomach and finishing just beneath the fastener of her blue satin bra. Tom moves in a slow circle, palpating her midsection gently, his eyes flicking repeatedly upwards to her face, observing for any signs of pain.

She doesn't meet his gaze, fighting hard to keep her breathing light and her Captain's expression perfectly schooled.

Moving on to examine her back, he is privy to the ugly imprint of a large military style boot, its heel just shy of the ribs on her left hand side and its toe print almost reaching the base of her right shoulder blade. The amount of pain each of his gentle touches elicits confirms her suspicion that it did some damage and requires an almost herculean effort not to wince. Immeasurably worse however, is that it evidences that she was outnumbered and outfought and ended up on the floor, out of options, curled into a ball, not the outcome the Starfleet Officer in her _ever_ wants to acknowledge. Tom's hands are not cold and she feels him methodically press each of her ribs with care, before she hears the hum of the regenerator start and then abruptly stop.

There is a pause and when he speaks, his voice is quiet, but contains a clarity that she can't ignore. "Kathryn, am I making you uncomfortable?"

Inconsiderately perceptive, his right hand rests lightly on her waist, skin on skin. The question waits patiently to be answered and fleetingly she considers lying, but decides against it, they have known each other for too long and have come too far. Shaking her head, she motions for him to come back around to face her, resisting the urge to lift the shirt that still sits in her lap, mainly because she can't bear the idea that he thinks her reaction concerns him. She places one hand over his, skin on skin and he studies their joined hands apparently understanding the deeper meaning of the gesture.

"It's not me is it? This attack - it was the tipping point?"

She nods, finding some honesty for the first time. "I've realised that I can't live a lie."

At this, his bright eyes return to look deeply into hers; his voice serious, he is every inch the outstanding Starfleet Officer that she knows him to be.

"You know exactly what you'd say if the positions were reversed. Given the circumstances, none of us would have done differently and I'd have that bloody great boot print too. Your instincts probably saved your life."

She nods and he gives her an affectionate version of his trademark grin before withdrawing his hand to resume running the regenerator back and forth. The gnawing, gripping pain starts to dull and gratefully she takes a deep lungful of air and proceeds to cough heartily.

"Easy, let me finish before you start using those muscles again."

Work complete, he offers a glass of water and a hypospray. "For the headache and the dizziness, don't think I didn't notice you almost fall off that stool earlier."

Tilting her head for him to administer the drug, she offers an eye roll by way of thanks. Shaking his head, he works his magic on her hands, the skin on her knuckles turning from an angry purple back to a pale rose tint, flexing her fingers gingerly, she catches the mischievous glint in his eye.

"It looks like you managed to land a good punch or two Ma'am."

She can't resist a wry smile as she starts to button her shirt. "And that's just the beginning Tom."

* * *

Chakotay wakes about twenty minutes after Tom has gone, just as she is dozing in the chair. He eyes her sleepily, "Is that an impressive DIY job or did Mr Paris pay us a visit?"

She shoots him a look. "Tom couldn't stay, he was on his way to work. He'll be back later and he said he'll bring dinner from that Thai place near HQ."

Chakotay pulls himself into a more upright position, stretching his shoulders. It might be her imagination, but he looks vaguely resentful.

"He means a lot to you doesn't he?"

It's an obvious statement given her closeness to Tom and his family and far from the comment she is expecting, she doesn't reply, instead waiting for him to offer a clarification.

"Deanna said that his relationship with you is safe ground."

Although essentially accurate, the statement doesn't do their relationship justice and she bristles, realising that he is watching her reaction keenly. Suddenly, she is wary of the direction in which the conversation is headed.

"I've never phrased it quite like that, but I guess she could be right."

"Could be?"

Irritated, she finally takes the bait. "I don't know Chakotay, I don't analyse it. He's a good friend and I consider him as part of my family, of _our_ family."

Her voice softens at the end of the sentence and he stares at her for a while, before rubbing one hand across his face.

"Deanna contacted Tom first. He told me that she called him when she couldn't reach me, but I checked the logs and she contacted him a full two minutes earlier."

Still unsure of the potential significance, she tries to avoid clenching her jaw, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

"I didn't know."

"How could you?"

She is rapidly tiring of this. "Is this going anywhere Chakotay? Does it bother you that she contacted Tom first?"

His expression darkens. "It doesn't bother me, no."

"That's a lie."

The speed of her retort only confirms its veracity, but all of a sudden she wants to stop this dance that their conversation has become, closing her eyes she takes a deep, slow breath. When she opens them, something about the way that he fixes her with his gaze tells her that he is going to be totally, and brutally, honest.

"You're right Kathryn. It does matter, because Deanna was correct."

Pointedly, he holds his hands palms skyward. "I was angry with you Kathryn. The distance I put between us….. it was intentional."

Allowing herself to feel the aching sadness that she has been suppressing for weeks, she almost smiles. " _I know_."

He brings his forearms to rest on his knees, one large, tanned hand clasps the other, his fingers still. "Deanna counselled me last night. She sat me down and showed me that I was angry because of the depth of feelings I have for you, Ibiriis may have been a bad call, but it didn't break us. I did and for that, I'm sorry."

His carefully chosen words demand her undivided attention and she moves to mirror his posture, angling her body until their knees are almost touching.

"What else did she say?"

"That you needed your best friend."

Her voice sits just above a whisper. " _I do Chakotay._ "

Suddenly he stands. "I'll go and make us some tea."

He doubts the statement with every fibre of his being, it is written all over him, footsteps heavy with uncertainty. Such is the nature of their relationship since Ibiriis, mainly due she suspects, to the way she has treated him. Desperate to begin the process of rebuilding and unwilling to let him leave, she follows him into the kitchen, resisting the urge to reach out and physically hold him as realisation dawns that she has to find a way to let him in.

"Chakotay, my place... I was wondering if….."

She trails off, unsure if she is on the right track, he says nothing further instead concentrating on retrieving the cups and placing them on the work surface. The slight inclination of his head and the way that he subtly shifts his feet however, indicates that he is listening, waiting for her to make her move, to extend the olive branch.

 _To begin to tell him the truth._

Biting the bullet, she admits something that so far she has not told another soul and just one of the many reasons she was out on the rooftop. Her voice shakes a fraction as she struggles with the admission, fighting a sense of failure that has never come easily.

"I - don't want to go back there."

Chakotay doesn't miss a beat, immediately turning his entire body towards hers. Eyes full of compassion, his gentle expression soothes the troubled air between them like a potent, yet invisible balm. He takes a stride forward into the gulf separating them and simply extends his hands. Purposefully, she rests her palms on his, twisting her fingers until their hands are clasped; it feels safe and warm and she wonders how she ever let him go. They stand face to face in the sunlit stillness, grateful to have found each other again until he pulls her close, circling his arms protectively around her shoulders.

"Then stay Kathryn. Stay for as long as you want."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

.

As he chimes Chakotay's door, Tom can't help but appreciate the irony that if asked, he would have stated unequivocally that he was going to make a firm resolution not to cross paths with the man he is here to see, for the foreseeable future, let alone twice in the last twenty-four hours. Chakotay's broad figure looms large as the door opens and for a second Tom hesitates on the threshold, swayed by uncharacteristic thoughts of self-doubt. Never exactly close, he has a strong suspicion that there have been a number of occasions recently when his former First Officer was close to utilising those famed boxing skills of his and no doubt, it took all of his well honed self control to step back.

Since Ibiriis the pair have resided at opposing ends of the same spectrum, as two magnets repelling one another at the same time being forcibly held together. Inextricably linked, it is at times like these that he is acutely aware that _she_ is the invisible glue that binds them. Chakotay appears to notice this slightest of hesitations, apparently understanding that Tom might just be where he feels he is not wanted and extends a hand, grasping Tom's with a force that almost causes him to wince. Visible lines of exhaustion mark the features of the older man, the stress of the last three weeks seeming to have aged him far more than their seven year exile in the Delta Quadrant ever did.

 _Damn Kathryn and her distance._

"Tom. It's good to see you. Kathryn will be down in a bit, would you like a drink?"

The words have an honesty that isn't faked, Tom should know, as one who has deceived and been deceived for much of his life, he can spot a lie at a hundred yards. They walk first into the kitchen to put the hot food in stasis and then on to Chakotay's office for something that Tom desperately hopes is going to be stronger than tea. He lowers himself onto the colonial style couch, extending his arms along the back rest before once again taking in the room that he still can't bring himself to like.

"So this isn't as awkward as I'd expected."

Back from the replicator, Chakotay passes him a bottle of beer managing a genuine smile at his attempt to lighten the somber mood.

"There's not much I can say except that I'd like you to accept my unreserved apology Tom, for being an ass."

Tom knows his tone has a serious inflection, but ensures that his expression is less so. " _You were a real ass."_

Diplomatically Chakotay swigs from his bottle of beer, dark eyes meeting Tom's from the other side of the room.

"Deanna said…."

He pauses mid-sentence, and Tom interjects, unable to resist a little teasing. "That you were an ass?"

A smile playing on his lips, Chakotay's gaze drops to the floor and Tom becomes aware of an almost palpable honesty radiating from the man, a small part of him instantly wanting to stand and leave before he has the chance to hear anything further. Tom Paris, once labelled the world's worst secret keeper does not need another confidence to add to his already overburdened plate.

"...She said that the reason I was so angry with Kathryn is because I love her."

Tom can't help but swallow his beer a little too fast, coughing in an effort to keep the liquid from spraying all over the antique style floor. It is not the truth in the words that surprise him, after all he did spend the better part of seven years with the pair, rather the fact that after all this time, it has taken Kathryn to sit on the edge of a rooftop for them to reach this point. For two of the smartest people he knows, it is faintly absurd and at the same time all too real. He catches himself grazing his chin with one hand, honesty, it would seem, is infectious.

"I'd say Deanna was spot on."

In the ensuing silence, Tom recalls the near cardiac failure Deanna's Comm resulted in. Somewhere deep inside, he hadn't believed that she had any intention of doing anything other than taking some time out and yet, in that instant, had come perilously close to emptying the contents of his stomach onto the Flight Deck. That says more about his feelings for Kathryn that he cares to admit, even to himself. Such is the trauma on his features, coupled with his weary posture that Tom realises that Chakotay is still in some level of shock. He expected a confrontation, an apology, but not a man quite so broken and he finds his feet marching back to the replicator for a second round.

"It'll be alright" he says, mustering all the confidence that he can. A short timIt is some time later that Kathryn appears, barefoot, she doesn't make a sound and yet he knows that she is there.

 _They both do_.

Two heads turn at the same time and two pairs of eyes look in the same direction as she pauses briefly at the foot of the large, curving wooden staircase and tilts her head quizzically at their apparent psychic abilities. Still damp, her auburn hair hangs in loose waves just touching her shoulders, she wears blue slacks and a pale linen shirt, a soft grey woollen cardigan draped around her shoulders. Relieved to have a means of escape, Tom crosses the room to embrace her before they head for the kitchen.

"How are you feeling?"

She smiles tolerantly. "Much better thanks."

It might be his overactive imagination or she casually leans on the doorframe for just a few seconds longer than he would like, Kathryn catches him staring, her glance holding a warning, she doesn't want to be scrutinised; mollycoddled and he tries, but doesn't entirely succeed in switching off his heightened concern, instead changing tack.

"You're staying here tonight?"

She retrieves the plates and cutlery deliberately, before giving him a single nod. "For a while."

"Good, I'd say Chakotay could use a housemate."

She turns her head in his direction, offering him the start of a rueful smile. "It's the least I can do."

A flash of understanding passes between them, before he takes his life and possibly any chance of continued friendship in his hands.

"If you ask me Kathryn, you could stop dancing around this and move in, _permanently_."

Resting her fingertips lightly on the top plate, an appealing shade of ocean blue, she brushes away an imaginary grain of dust. There is no way back, so despite being on dangerous territory, pushes onwards, the words forming on his lips are totally alien, but that doesn't make them any less true.

 _"_ He loves you, plain and simple _."_

She moves to set the cutlery precisely on the counter, a soft exhalation escaping her slightly pursed lips. Whether his statement delivers on its desired dramatic effect is impossible to say as she retains that expertly schooled expression; sensing her lowered guard and realising that it might just be now or never, he pushes just a little further.

"I think that you love him too."

There is perhaps a hint more colour in her cheeks and when she replies her voice is low, catching with a hint of the emotion that he suspects she is fighting to suppress.

"It's not that simple Tom."

 _Not an outright denial._

He pauses, allowing a hint of his pent up exasperation to seep into his words.

" _Isn't it?"_

"I think….." a bleary voice thick with tiredness makes them both start and turn around sharply. "...that I agree with Tom. We've over thought this for too long."

Chakotay walks past him and into the centre of the kitchen, he places his hands on Kathryn's shoulders and Tom finds himself retreating, each of the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"I've acted poorly, last night I realised that I don't want any secrets between us and I don't want us to waste another minute apart. I love you Kathryn and I'm asking if you feel the same way."

Kathryn doesn't reply instantly, her lips parting just a fraction as they stand in silence, feeling as if he is intruding on a moment that is simultaneously precious and perilous, Tom reluctantly continues to back away, stepping softly and almost reaching the middle of the hallway before his long held curiosity gets the better of him.

In some ways, the muted scene reminds him of the rooftop, watching the pair of them. Less than twenty-four hours ago he would have said that he has the privilege of knowing Kathryn Janeway as few people do and then came the call that caused him to re-evaluate much of what he thought he knew. The sands are shifting wildly beneath his feet and searching for some firm ground or perhaps just desperate to know how this will end, is unable to turn completely away allowing his eyes to wander back through to the two figures in the kitchen.

They are still face to face, Chakotay's head is dipped a fraction to better meet Kathryn's gaze, her chin lifted slightly. Chakotay must say something further, because just when he doesn't think even he, a keen student of humanity and one whom Harry Kim once described as a rotten gossip _,_ can watch for a second longer, Kathryn slowly raises one hand to his cheek and nods gently, her pale skin contrasting against his tanned complexion. Chakotay leans forward and places a lingering kiss on her lips and in response, her arms wrap easily around his neck, one hand pulling her against him, he allows his other to lightly caresses the crest of her hip.

It is as if they have been in love for a thousand years.

* * *

 **Forty-Eight hours later...**

 **.**

 _It starts and predictably ends in precisely the same manner, pain that is unlike anything that she has ever felt before. It is not the worst she has endured, to claim that would deny credit to more than a few of the species she has encountered thus far, the Cardassians and the Borg among an eclectic mix. But unlike the violence that she has met at the hands of her enemies, this is completely unexpected. One moment she is reaching for an elegant flute of what she hopes is authentic Champagne (Tom has had more than a passing involvement in tonight's celebrations so most likely it will be), the colour of a pale honey with bubbles carving beautifully vertical tracks to the surface, and the next, her world abruptly comes to a halt._

 _She can't pinpoint the exact origin, although it would be entirely logical given her recent medical history to assume that it started in her chest before seeming to explode outwards. Hot tendrils of pure agony twist around as her spine before extending viciously from the tips of her fingers down to the balls of her feet. Its vice like grip, equal parts ice and fire constricts, binding her akin to the branches of an unyielding vine and instantly, depressingly, a shudder sweeping her entire body, she knows that this is not a battle she will win. Forcing a single, desperate inhalation, she tries to turn, to look for him, her eyes searching for the one face in the sea of uniformity that stands out._

 _He has been her port in many a storm and if this is to be the end, then she wants to see only him._ _The end of a life as yet only half lived, although she'd acknowledge that by some standards she has crammed more than a lifetime's amount of adventures into her forty odd years._

 _The end of a career where she'd do nothing different. With one notable exception, or then again, perhaps not._

 _The end of a love just discovered._

 _And then almost as quickly as the pain starts, it stops and there is nothing. No gentle fade out, the room doesn't spin, faces don't blur into a comforting melee. There is just an instant blackness, as if someone has merely flicked a switch. The final sound that she hears is the quiet, almost musical sound of her Champagne glass smashing as it hits the floor. And not a sip has passed her lips._

 _Life can be unfair._

 _Her final thought is that if she were Tom, she'd bet replicator rations on the fact that she has just felt her heart entirely cease beating. A disconcerting sensation and one that she would be in no hurry to repeat. This isn't strictly her final thought, as in the toxic grip of hypoxia, her mind along with her body reaches out for him, but she can't remain conscious long enough to allow his name to pass her lips._

 _._

Across the room, Tom is considering bending yet another Starfleet protocol (the first being the French Champagne that cost him far more than he'll admit to B'Elanna any time soon) in nominating Chakotay to make the final toast of the evening. By his reckoning today has been nothing short of a miracle. Fergus, Kathryn's short, stocky, semi bald legal representative had stunned them all, by suggesting they go hell for leather and petition for an immediate dismissal of all charges. His mouth dropped open at the suggestion, but Fergus had apparently known something that they had not; an emergency session of three senior Admirals had agreed (albeit through slightly gritted teeth), after only a hour of deliberation, that Kathryn's original conviction was unsafe based as it was on hearsay and precious little else.

With their relationship with the Ibiriians apparently now bolstered by Starfleet's successful defence of their home world and the far more pressing situation with the Dominion to deal with, the fight had left the top Brass. Along with the fact that Kathryn's considerable talents would most likely be needed in the near future, this had been enough for the matter now described as 'a _n entirely unforeseeable and highly regrettable situation,'_ to be resolved. Fergus had skilfully negotiated a reversal of Kathryn's demotion, based on the retraction of her previous admission of fault. In exchange for a media silence, her Starfleet record was to be expunged, save for a minor reprimand. Effective immediately, she was also be provisionally promoted back to the rank of Admiral, full reinstatement coming in no longer than three months.

Tom supposes it was a fair enough deal, not quite the public exoneration she deserves, but as the majority believed the charges entirely false in the first place, those who count still hold Kathryn in high esteem. Turning to Chakotay, he opens his mouth, but before he can utter a word, every single drop of colour drains from the face of the man next to him, in one rapid, fluid motion. The usually annoyingly bronzed skin of his former First Officer instantly blanches into an unattractively ashen shade of clay. Tricorder or no, by now he should be in action, certain that something is very wrong, but without a shadow of a doubt there is only one thing that could possibly cause Chakotay to suddenly look that unwell, today of all days, on what should be the beginning of something better for them all.

 _It has to be her and it has to be totally and incomprehensibly awful._

As soon as this coherent thought is formed, his head snaps around ninety degrees, eyes rapidly scanning the room. His limbs obligingly move before his brain can even process the scene before him, for a man now nearing the end of his thirties, he is still lithe with rapid reactions he attributes to his career at the Helm rather than his medical training. Kathryn is approximately seven metres from him and logic would dictate that he can't reach her, that the distance is too great, but somehow he does. His outstretched fingertips graze her shoulders as she dips backwards in a motion not unlike the beginnings of the backflips he used to watch his cousins attempt on the front lawn of their family home.

She falls gracefully, in a slow motion that will haunt his dreams.

He sees the back of her head, followed by the auburn crown and then her forehead, unnaturally pale and smooth, free from all care and responsibility. The whites of her eyes follow, rolled back in unconsciousness and then her blue tinged lips. It might be his imagination, but he thinks he sees them twitch, move just enough to attempt a solitary word; then time is sped up again and as his knees fold, his hands extend beneath her head just in time to stop her skull bouncing on the unforgiving floor. His eyes search the face of the woman whose body he now cradles; refusing to believe and yet knowing with a clarity that fiercely burns in his chest, that Kathryn Janeway lies dead in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

.

Kathryn's ashen face with lips a soft shade of heather and breathing entirely absent tells Tom the very worst story possible and on instinct he reaches across and slams his right hand onto his Comm badge with such force that later he will discover a bruise on his chest - a perfect replica of the Starfleet insignia, painfully and exactingly imprinted on his skin. He can't recall the precise words that leave his lips, but as the Emergency Transport initiates, he feels Chakotay's vice like grasp on his shoulder and they re-materialise as an unexpected trio in the centre of the floor.

Medical is full, noisy; wall to wall with uniformed bodies. Apparently it is new intake assessment day and the first face that greets him is not that of a Physician or Triage Nurse, but one of a gaggle of extremely fresh faced Ensigns who take one look from him to Kathryn and Chakotay and back again before becoming paralysed with shock. An instantaneous silence descends on the bright, clinical space as their eyes widen to a the size of saucers, mouths falling agape. But for once he and Chakotay are on precisely the same page and he hears his own less than professional shout for the arrest team as Chakotay bends smoothly scooping up Kathryn's inert form, carrying her across the room in three or four large strides and setting her down on the closest Critical Care Biobed; at the same time, issuing an order which causes the twenty or so accidental bystanders to exit the room as if it were on fire.

The mass exodus visible in his peripheral vision, Tom is now desperately forcing his Medic's brain to provide a logical and preferably entirely reversible reason for Kathryn suffering a sudden cardiac arrest. A thousand disorganised, chaotic thoughts and memories swirl in his brain and for some reason stuck in his mind's eye, is an image of the slightly crooked smile she used to shoot him over her shoulder. Purely on autopilot, his fingers fly across a console he knows like the back of his hand, initiating the Critical Care Protocols, eyes searching the monitors as they spring to life. Reaching for the closest hypospray, before he has had the chance to administer a single compound, he feels Chakotay physically lift him backwards by the shoulders to make room for the descending Medical team.

Aware that he is in shock, he doesn't resist and instead watches as Kathryn vanishes, totally eclipsed by Doctors, Nurses and Medical Technicians. The familiar sound of piping alarms rings mercilessly as he stumbles backwards until his shoulders make contact with a wall and he bends forward from the waist, his hands on his knees; breath is coming in slightly ragged gasps. When he raises his head, it is to see Chakotay standing just beyond the foot of the bed, watching intensely. Hands lightly clasped behind his back, feet regulation distance apart, Tom is struck by just how calm the older man appears, a Nurse is asking him questions and in a daze, Tom finds himself tuning into her voice, realising that Chakotay might just know something that he doesn't.

"Do you know the date of her her last scan?"

Chakotay doesn't alter his gaze, "Friday."

"Did she complain of feeling unwell? Chest pain, palpitations or dizziness?"

"No not that I'm aware of."

It is at this point that Tom finds himself stepping forward, recollecting Kathryn stumble on the stairs that morning and almost drop the box she was carrying. Crossing her path, he had leant down to help and she had brushed away his concern in her typical fashion. It had been something and nothing, a moment in time duly cast aside without further thought. But now, as he replays their interaction, remembers her actions, searching his brain for the minutest of details, he can recall thinking it was out of character for her to relinquish the box without argument. She had rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, but hadn't accompanied him up the rest of the flight of stairs. At the time, he had thought she was simply heading back to retrieve her ever present mug of coffee, but now he wonders how on earth he could he have missed something this serious.

"Earlier, on the stairs, she ... I didn't think anything of it, but she might have been struggling a little, I'm sorry, I didn't...…."

Chakotay's voice is soft, pliable, almost as if to to offer some reassurance and Tom feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder. "It's alright Tom."

But it isn't alright and Tom wants to shout that it's thousands of light years away from alright, as he watches Kathryn physically jerk on the Biobed. Head thrown back, her torso arches, toes pointing in a movement akin to a macabre ballet position before her limbs return to their previously slackened state.

"Again."

An unknown voice says and he swallows around the painful lump rapidly forming in his throat and forces himself to turn away studying the wall while trying to block out everything he can hear. After what feels like forever, a quietness descends, the alarms cease ringing, replaced by the soft murmuring of voices. Kathryn is surrounded by what appears to be every single one of Starfleet's Senior Clinicians, they are working efficiently, hypospray after hypospray administered, Physician after Physician consulted, scan after scan reviewed. Droplet by droplet, he can all but see the beads of sweat forming on each furrowed brow as they look from her to the flickering monitors and back again with a palpable concentration that seems to colour every molecule of the air.

 _He can only hope that it is enough._

* * *

The Chief Cardiologist has kind eyes _._

Irises of a light hazel brown, framed by dark lashes and surrounded with just sufficient number of creases to show that despite the rigorous demands of her stressful profession, she still takes the time to smile. Dr Joanna Swica has recently transferred into a permanent position at Medical and Tom has only met her once previously, but she presents as intuitive, kind and highly focussed. Right now, she is talking to him, to both of them, he realises and he pushes himself through the hazy fog of shock to focus on her words.

"Captain, Lieutenant, I need to talk to you regarding Admiral Janeway. Can we step into my office?"

Mutely, they follow her into the small room; leaning back slightly against the desk, she tucks a strand of short, chestnut brown hair behind one ear.

"According to her Medical file, the Admiral's mother is listed as her next of kin. However, we have been unable to reach Mrs Janeway."

Tom finds his feet, offering an explanation. "She's visiting Capella IV. I've managed to get a message through and she's on a Transport vessel en-route to Earth."

The Doctor nods. "Her secondary contact, were she ever to be incapacitated…..."

" _Is me_."

Chakotay, who hasn't spoken a single word in what feels like hours, quietly interjects turning to look at the Doctor questioningly. She indicates a PADD on her desk, "we have reached a point in our treatment plan where there are some key decisions that we need to take."

Chakotay nods. "I'd like Lieutenant Paris to stay, Kathryn considers him family."

The smallest shadow of doubt briefly crosses Dr Swica's face, but she continues, choosing her words with care. "Captain, I won't presume to know how much of the Admiral's recent medical history you are aware of."

Chakotay sighs, rubbing his chin. "The majority. We discussed her heart condition and the upcoming surgery."

Dr Swica nods. "Following her Cardiac Arrest, the Admiral is in a critical condition, at present we are sustaining her vital systems, including her Neurological and higher brain functions. I'm confident that the damage to her heart can be repaired, but the events of this morning mean that the planned surgery is no longer applicable, the new plan is to place her on an extended Cardiac bypass and transplant her heart into a nano regenerating chamber to repair her cardiac muscle from the molecular level upwards. It is a relatively new technology, but my feeling is that she is a good candidate and although a high risk procedure, it is at this point by far and away our best option."

"How long would she be on extended bypass?" Tom finds he has recovered sufficiently from the bombshell to voice his question.

Dr Swica grimaces slightly. "With the extent of the damage, it's likely to take approximately thirty-six hours. That is at the outer limit of tolerance, but the Admiral has age and fitness on her side."

Chakotay looks to Tom. "Do you have any experience with extended bypass?"

Tom shakes his head as an Ensign enters the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt Doctor, but I have Mrs Janeway for you."

"Thank you, please patch her through."

It is a few seconds before an image appears on the screen which flickers and pixelates before the sound cuts in. The Doctor, Tom notices, side steps neatly to put Chakotay in the forefront as Gretchen's familiar face appears, her grey hair swept elegantly aside and her brow creased with an obvious concern.

"Chakotay? What can you tell me before this signal cuts out? How's Katie?"

Chakotay clears his throat. "She collapsed at HQ, right now they have her on life support. The Doctors want to use a new treatment to repair the damage to her heart it….."

Gretchen interjects smartly. "Chakotay, the Captain of this transport thinks I only have another thirty seconds before I lose you, I'm afraid I haven't the time for medical details. Tell me, did you and she resolve things?"

This is obviously an unexpected question and Tom watches Chakotay uncomfortably shift his large feet, briefly allowing his gaze to drop to the floor and back again before answering.

"We did. In fact, Gretchen we….."

In a gesture so reminiscent of Kathryn that Tom finds himself biting back a small smile, Gretchen holds up her hand as the picture judders again. "I understand. Chakotay you've loved my daughter and stood by her side for a long time and I trust that whatever you decide will be entirely correct. If she wakes, tell her I love her; I'll see you both soon."

Understandably taken aback at his apparent love for Kathryn being broadcast to all inside and within earshot of the small office, Chakotay doesn't manage to say anything further before the Comm line abruptly cuts off. There follows a short, diplomatic silence, during which time the Doctor dutifully taps something into a PADD; when she looks up again, eyebrows raised in question, Chakotay has recovered his composure.

"We'll go ahead with the bypass," he says quietly.

Doctor Swica nods. "I'll get the preparations started straight away. What would you like me to tell the Nursing staff?"

A suitable reply seems to elude Chakotay so Tom offers some assistance, as one who has observed the two of them over the last eight years or so, he knows exactly what he wants to say.

"You should tell the Nursing staff to expect Captain Chakotay to remain by the Admiral's side, just as he always has."

Exiting the room, Chakotay shoots a slightly dazed, but decidedly grateful look in his direction.

* * *

It is just shy of ten hours into Kathryn's laborious surgery when Deanna arrives. Tom has left to go and see B'Elanna and to co-ordinate collecting Gretchen and informing those who need to know. Silently, she weaves her way across the room and slides her bottom onto the seat next to his, before offering a sympathetic smile and tilting her head towards the Surgical bay.

"How are things going?"

Chakotay shrugs wearily rubbing his tender forehead with his fingertips. "The last time I asked, it was progressing well, but there's a long way to go."

Deanna doesn't comment on this, instead angling her body towards his and passing him a PADD. He takes it on reflex, with a questioning glance.

"It's an application for an official leave of absence."

Turning the PADD over in his hands Chakotay looks at her through eyes that feel as if they have been laced with grit. "And the reason that I would apply for this?"

Deanna lets the question hang, well aware that he knows the answer. "You know the regulations as well as I do Captain. Do you _really_ need me to elaborate?"

Chakotay lets a soft sigh escape. "If I submit this request, there are…...consequences. This will formalise things, put them on the record and I can't ask her."

Deanna raises her eyebrows, her mouth twisting into a slightly flirtatious smile. " _Formalise_ _things_? How very romantic."

Wincing in recognition of her teasing, he turns to meet her gaze, before his face dips into a frown.

 _After this there can be no going back._

Deanna's tone changes, becoming subtly more like that of a counselor. "I understand your reservations, but sometimes events like these act to force our hands, if I'm correct, you don't doubt your feelings for Kathryn? And if you're concerned that she might change her mind, don't be, the depth of the feelings I sensed within her for you is immense. She loves you Chakotay and with the conclusion of Ibiriis, she's finally happy."

Managing a nod at her question, as she continues, he becomes aware that his dimpled smile does little to mask his embarrassment and his rapidly surfacing emotion. Deanna can read him (or them) like a book and her mention of his love for Kathryn tests the control he has been fighting so hard to maintain. Tightening his jaw, he forces himself to swallow and continues to stare at the PADD.

Slowly, she brings her hand to rest lightly on his forearm. "There is also the small matter of you not being able to be an effective Officer right now. You're exhausted and you're going to need all of your time and energy to support Kathryn through this."

 _Deanna is correct. Today's events have resulted in the total depletion of his reserves and the crushing fatigue kept at bay thus far only by the adrenaline surging through his system is encroaching closer with every passing minute. An unpleasant, tight headache is making it hard to think and apart from anything else he probably wouldn't make it out of Medical never mind onto the Bridge for his next shift_.

Silently adding his Biometric signature to the document, he presses it into her waiting hands and with business apparently concluded, Deanna stands, brushing her long hair over one shoulder, indicating for him to follow. He hauls himself to his feet, she turns, allowing him to catch up before linking her arm firmly through his and pulling him closer, their hips almost touching. He feels faintly embarrassed at being led across the room, but doesn't protest. As they enter Dr Swica's office, she points to a door on the opposite wall and when he doesn't immediately move, hits the touchpad and almost pushes him into the small bathroom.

"Take a shower and replicate something to wear. When did you last eat something?"

Standing under the scalding stream, he lets the pulsing water wash away some of the stress of a dreadful day. When he recalls the sheer terror he felt watching Kathryn almost die, his whole body starts to shake and he locks his knees, resting his palms and forehead against the tiled surface and allowing the water to run down his cheeks. The thought of losing her is one he has planted firmly in an untouchable area of his brain, one that he has no intention of revisiting, today or ever. The thrumming water bounces off his stiff neck and shoulder muscles; its heat easing his headache and once towelled off and wearing slacks and a clean shirt, he can admit that things don't seem quite so dismal. He wanders back into the office to find Deanna retrieving hot vegetable soup and toast from the replicator, too tired for conversation, he is surprised when the first thing she offers him is a hypospray.

"Not many people know about this. Beverly calls it her best kept secret."

He raises his eyebrows as her eyes twinkle, "it's a mixture of vitamin, mineral and plant compounds designed to give your immune system a boost and counteract some of the stress. It's not exactly sleep in a bottle, but it's the next best thing."

He tilts his head to receive Beverley's compound, before attempting the soup. The toast is easier to eat and as he returns to the sofa after recycling the dishes, the carpeted floor swims before his tired eyes slightly and he feels Deanna's soft hand on his shoulder.

"Get some rest Chakotay." she insists softly, pressing him back into the soft cushions. "I promise I'll wake you if anything changes."

The last thing he sees are her dark eyes and concerned smile before managing to mumble his thanks, he drifts into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

 _At first, it is an awareness. Of exactly what she is uncertain, but where there was nothing, now there is most definitely something. Not light or sound, not even physical sensation as such, more an identification that once again she is part of something, something greater than herself._

 _A sense that she is no longer disconnected, no longer alone._

 _It is fleeting, so momentary that she almost misses it, but somewhere in a mind that is slowly ebbing towards the stream of consciousness, some semblance of thought is returning. She has no idea what has happened, where she is or what the future holds, but she does think that at least she is alive._

 _Just._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to SusanC with thanks for your kind words - I can only hope you're a J/C fan ;-)_

 **.**

 **Chapter Four**

.

For the second time in as many minutes, Tom yawns. At the other end of the bed, Dr Swica offers him a sympathetic smile before continuing to tap deftly into the gently lit control panel. It is 03.00 hours and there is only so much time one can spend watching someone who is unconscious before one of two things happen Tom has decided: either you fall asleep or completely lose your mind. They have been trading shifts, B'Elanna, Harry and he, sitting in apparent vigil beside Kathryn, on a less than comfortable chair which has only been mildly improved by a replicated cushion. Their promise to sit beside her, the only way they could convince Chakotay to agree to leave Medical at any point during the extended bypass procedure. It is irrational and slightly pointless as Kathryn is not asleep, rather in an induced coma, but acutely aware that the comfort that are providing is not for her, but wholly for him and bound by a lasting friendship and loyalty, they all agree.

Unlike Chakotay, who Tom is convinced spends the entire time awake, they have all failed spectacularly. Predictably, B'Elanna and Harry have fared far better than he has, but in the end work schedules, an insomniac toddler and sheer boredom get the better of them. Luckily, Dr Swica and her team are apparently familiar with this kind of nonsense and without fail Tom and his co-sleepers are gently woken thirty minutes or so before Chakotay is due to return, a splash of cold water to their faces and a highly caffeinated beverage brings them back to full consciousness quickly enough.

Tonight is Tom's final shift and he is eternally grateful. Apprehension though, sits like a stone in the pit of his stomach, an unfamiliar mix of exhilaration and anxiety about the upcoming surgery. Later this morning, the team will return Kathryn's heart to its rightful owner and then attempt to wake her, Chakotay he knows, has been counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until this occurs, convinced that this is the end of their trials.

What Tom and the Cardiology team know is that right now they are sailing in the perfect calm before the storm.

* * *

 _The awareness is back and this time, it seems to be a permanent state._

 _She can feel gravity, the weight of her body: head, chest, abdomen and limbs all pressing downwards, her ribcage rising and falling rhythmically as breath enters and then leaves her lungs. She is warm, comfortable even; aware of something soft beneath her and covering her and although her limbs are unwilling to move save for the occasional twitch or flex, she feels almost calm._ _An indeterminate amount of time passes and sound returns to a previously muted world. At first, she only recognises the soft, rhythmic bleeping of medical equipment, but this is swiftly followed by the sounds of human activity: the pad of softly taken footsteps, low muffled voices and then someone saying a name._

 _Her name, she slowly realises._

"Kathryn?"

"Kathryn, can you open your eyes?"

She comprehends this most basic of instructions and does as bid. Once her eyelids obey, she is overwhelmed - conscious thought, all manner of sensations (pleasant and otherwise), bright lights and noise instantly and relentlessly invade her previously peaceful world. She flinches, rapidly closing her eyes again, grateful for the respite of the darkness. There is a heavy, dull ache in her chest and she still can't move her legs or arms, but her fingers flex in response to her will and she licks her dry lips. A warm hand touches her shoulder, a woman's voice close to her ear.

"I'm Joanna, your Doctor. You're at Starfleet Medical and you've had some surgery. Chakotay is here."

At the mention of _his_ name, her eyes fly open and instantly everything blurs into a dizzying mix of colour. Blinking to clear her vision, she is able to decipher the face directly above her as that of a dark haired women with a kind, reassuring smile. The hand on her shoulder squeezes lightly.

"Just take a moment Kathryn, you'll feel disorientated. You've been out for quite a while."

Standing head and shoulders above the Doctor, Chakotay comes into focus. He is unshaven, stubble weighing heavily on his features, a dark shadow falling across his jaw, over his chin and climbing up his cheeks. His hair is ruffled and although his eyes are sparkling fiercely at her, they are rimmed with red and surrounded by the dark grey hues of tiredness, his face breaks into a relieved smile.

"Hello beautiful, welcome back."

 _She wonders briefly, if she has woken in a parallel Universe or if her First Officer just addressed his Captain in a manner entirely inappropriate and in front of Medical staff to boot. Swallowing, she struggles to make sense of it all - he's not wearing uniform and the Doctor isn't familiar either. Confusion crowds her brain and she feels as though she might just be experiencing an elaborate hallucination, f_ _rom somewhere she hears a monitor begin to sound as she tries and fails to orientate herself, to make any sense of what is happening._

"Where….?"

 _The hoarse question sounds strange, alien and distant to her ears and she can't complete the sentence,_ _Chakotay is the only thing that seems real, as if he is actually meant to be here, wherever here is. But as she continues to look at him, she finds herself fighting unfamiliar feelings, feelings that she recognises are far greater than those between colleagues or even close friends. She has a powerful sense that she is drawn to him, needs him like the very air she needs to breathe._

 _That she loves him with an intensity that is almost alarming._

She can't process this, the disorientation now taking it toll. She tries to to move any part of her body that she can, in an entirely unsuccessful bid to escape strange surroundings and a climbing sense of everything being so very out of place. Suddenly, Chakotay is so close that she can feel warm breath on her cheek, his broad chest practically touching hers, he takes her hand in his.

"You're safe Kathryn and everything is going to feel normal soon. I promise."

Her lips sting as she manages to croak another word.

" _Stay_?"

"Always," he replies, voice cracking with uncharacteristic emotion as he brushes her cheek with this thumb gently. She looks into the depths of his shining eyes, before she hears the hiss of a hypospray and the comforting world of sleep calls her to return.

.

As Kathryn's eyes close, Dr Swica places a reassuring palm on Chakotay's shoulder. "That went well, she'll wake again in a few hours and we'll see if she remembers more."

Chakotay can't help but frown. "She seemed disorientated... as if she didn't know where she was."

Apparently anticipating his response, Dr Swica nods, picking up a medical PADD and turning to face him. "That is to be expected, patients usually revert to a familiar time and place. She most likely recognised an environment similar to Sickbay and thought she was back onboard Voyager."

All of a sudden, it dawns on him just why Kathryn's eyes might have widened and her face took on an expression that he hasn't seen since they returned. A look that he can remember from a handful of unpleasant conversations onboard Voyager when she thought that he had overstepped his bounds and was out of line. _Way out of line._ He pauses, before clearing his throat and deciding how best to phrase the question.

"So…... she might have thought I was still her First Officer?"

Dr Swica evidently understands all too well and raising her head from the PADD she is now studying, offers him a well practised, diplomatic smile.

"Quite possibly, and you certainly managed to raise her heart rate Captain."

He can feel the blush creeping into his cheeks, catching the glint in the Doctor's eye as she heads back towards her office.

* * *

Two hours later the sedative wears off, Dr Swica encourages Chakotay to wake Kathryn this time, promising to be on hand if he needs anything. The second time he says her name, she blinks groggily; much like he has in the past, he takes her hand, brings it up to his chest and waits.

"Chakotay, what happened?"

As a starting point, he is profoundly grateful to hear his first name. "You're at Medical Kathryn, you collapsed and they had to perform heart surgery. Do you remember anything?"

Nodding, she closes her eyes briefly and swallows, her voice raspy, words still slightly hesitant. "I remember Tom, Fergus ….…. HQ and then pain in my chest."

Tailing off, her free hand rises to brush her forehead, as if physically trying to clear a foggy brain. Thankful that this time she is orientated to the correct time and place, he decides to continue cautiously.

"We were at HQ with Tom. We were celebrating."

Now stifling a small yawn, she raises her eyebrows, her voice slightly clearer.

"Why?"

He hesitates. "We won a...victory of sorts. Ibiriis, but that's not important now."

" _Ibiriis_?"

"Ibiriis."

With her repetition of the word, he watches her complexion pale a shade, before her lower lip trembles for a mere fraction of a second. A sinking feeling starts in the pit of his stomach and increases rapidly as with each moment that passes as her speech starts to return, accompanied by a visibly profound sense of horror at the returning memory. Her fingers move to her mouth in agitation as the whispered words tumble from her lips.

"Chakotay - I remember…... civilians….. I gave an order…...they died, they **all** died…."

He tries to interject, to calm this sudden outburst, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Kathryn, listen..…."

But she breaks eye contact before he can complete the sentence he is still formulating, fixing her gaze firmly on the ceiling as a pair of tears spill from beneath her lashes and track slowly down her cheeks. The monitors begin their damn chirping again and feeling helpless, he turns and looks in vain for the Doctor.

Her voice is a soft monotone. "Ibiriis…. my fault….I killed…...innocent….."

Eyes glazed, rigid on the bed, she is unlike any version of Kathryn he has seen, her breathing rate hitches and he is no clinician, but he understands that in response her heart rate is climbing rapidly - 60, 85 then 102 and upwards. As she tries to turn her entire body away, intent on putting some physical distance between them, his fingers find and firmly press the call button.

" _Doc...tor_ " she pants faintly, fingers tightly balling the sheet.

He moves to stand directly in her eyeline; bringing his other hand onto her shoulder, hoping to force some sense into her.

"Kathryn, Ibiriis is over, it wasn't your fault, you weren't to blame."

But she doesn't hear him, instead releasing one hand and pressing it against her chest.

" _It hurts…..my chest..._ "

At this point, Dr Swica's enters Chakotay's peripheral vision; her familiar outline drifting quietly around to the opposite side of the bed as he takes a few small steps backwards in an unforeseen act of retreat. Glancing up at the Biobed's display, she calmly takes Kathryn's shaking hands in hers and brings them together in an almost prayer like position, her voice slow and hypnotic.

"Kathryn, I need you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Take slow, deep breaths, in and then out again."

"Breathe with me. _In and out."_

"That's good."

 _"In and out_."

He watches, synching his breathing rate with theirs and forcing himself to unclench his jaw as the tension dissipates. Dr Swica motions for him to step forward and hesitantly he does so and takes over, sliding Kathryn's hands inside his. Kathryn is still, her face almost serene and he feels the Dr nudge him with an unexpectedly pointed elbow.

" _In and out_." he says gently, repeating the mantra at increasingly extended intervals, until her deep, regular breathing tells him that she is asleep. They stand in silence for a moment until his self doubt spills over.

"I... should have lied, shouldn't have mentioned Ibiriis….."

The Doctor shakes her head, stopping her work at the console as he rubs a chin peppered with two days worth of stubble.

"As unpleasant as it is, patients often re-live difficult memories after deep sedation. It's not unusual and _it is_ only temporary, in fact _,_ her heart held up well under the stress."

Unbelieving, he frowns. "But she was in pain…."

Remaining relaxed. Dr Swica nods. "The hyperventilation caused her to overextend her chest and abdominal muscles, most likely pulling on ribs bruised after surgery. It wasn't related to her heart, in fact, the Admiral's cardiac function is currently running at eighty-nine percent which at this stage is excellent."

Chakotay sighs, wanting to believe the Doctor's encouraging words but all too vividly remembering Kathryn's distress followed by her detachment. Standing strategically alongside him the Doctor adjusts an infusion pump.

"Try and remember this is just the beginning, coming off extended bypass is a bit like waking up from a coma, memories and emotions can surface unexpectedly. The Admiral will struggle to process them at first, but she _will_ get there."

Glad that she is not a certain Betazoid who could spot his deception from a mile away, Chakotay smiles an entirely manufactured relief and resists the impulse to walk away and slam his fist against the closest sterile, unsympathetic wall.

* * *

Tom is surprised not to see Chakotay in his usual seat, instead the Doctor is by Kathryn's side, it looks to be an intimate interaction and relieved as he is to see her fully conscious, he hangs back, not wanting to intrude. Doctor Swica however, has other ideas and beckons him over.

"Lieutenant Paris, you have perfect timing, the Admiral could use a friend to talk to, I'll be back to check on her in a bit." And aiming her now familiar, affectionate smile in his direction, she leaves. Tom smiles at Kathryn, before settling himself on the chair by the bed. She looks warily at him, her expression slightly haunted; tears drying on her pale cheeks something even he has rarely seen. Following the Doctor's lead, he takes one of her hands, gives it a squeeze and offers her his trademark grin.

"It's good to see you awake Ma'am."

Kathryn doesn't reply, but he sees her eyes start to shine with more threatened tears. Smoothly, he changes tack. "It's okay," he says gently, "you don't need to say anything, I'll tell you all the latest stories about that nightmare toddler of ours."

This has the desired effect, Kathryn's defences lower as he prattles on about Miral's latest exploits, at the same time keeping one eye on her vitals. He pauses once the muscles around her jaw start to relax and the display indicates that the levels of her stress hormones are subsiding.

"So, B'Elanna and Harry are keen to see you."

Instantly, he realises that she's not ready for this, her heart rate spikes and a subtle tremor starts in the hand that is still clasped in his. He takes care to mask the concern from his voice, grateful for long hours of Sickbay experience. "It's alright," he reassures, holding her hand just a little tighter, "they'll come in a day or two when you're…. getting the hang of being back in one piece."

This time, the reward for his quick thinking is the smallest hint of a smile that starts in her eyes, before the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. A tear trickles slowly down the cheek closest to him. " _I'm sorry,_ " she whispers hoarsely, biting on her lip so hard that he's afraid it will draw blood, fighting the unrestrained emotion that she is so unaccustomed to. Wrapping his other hand around hers, he leans in, "there's no need to be, you've been through an ordeal. Just take some time and rest."

Silently, she closes her eyes.

* * *

Leaning against the wall of Dr Swica's empty office, Chakotay wishes that Deanna would spontaneously arrive. The raven haired counselor seems to have the knack of appearing in less than ideal circumstances and he is a little annoyed that she hasn't come by today - when she could have been a real help, Spirits only knew that everything he'd said was a disaster. Wanting to avoid going back into Medical, he is considering going for a walk when Tom's head appears.

"Tough afternoon?"

There is an unexpected, but obviously genuine concern in his voice and coupled with his uncanny accuracy, Chakotay feels his mood worsen a shade. "You could say that. The first time they woke her she thought we were still on Voyager and the second time, I mentioned Ibiriis and...…."

He tails off, spinning to look out into the Medical Bay, not keen to elaborate on his spectacular failure in front of Paris, nor relive it for his own memory. Surprisingly, Tom murmurs in apparent sympathy and when he turns it is to find him leaning against the door frame.

"I made her cry when I said Harry and B'Elanna wanted to visit."

At this admission he fails to keep his voice neutral, his pent-up frustration boiling over. " _Spirits Tom, do you have any idea what's happening_?"

"She'll be okay Chakotay. It's been a trauma, Ibiriis, the assault and then major heart surgery, she'll bounce back."

In disbelief, he catches himself rubbing his forehead. "Will she? I've not seen her so…..."

He pauses, searching for the word, recollecting Kathryn's demeanour, the barriers erected so fast that he didn't stand a chance and the way in which he now feels as if he is stranded on the wrong side of an impenetrable fortress.

"So...?" Tom prompts.

"Distant" he says a little sadly, perhaps resigned to his fate. From the silence, he suspects the term makes them both uncomfortable, but Tom tackles a previously taboo subject head on and sits down on the corner of the couch.

"The Kathryn I know is a master at suppressing unwanted emotion, hiding behind her persona as the ultimate Starfleet Officer, it's a tough exterior that acts as her first line of defence. Those years we served alongside her, she chose to maintain that facade, whatever her personal turmoil."

Failing to check his frustration, he clenches his jaw. "That was _then_ Tom, this is _now_. We're….." He manages to lower his voice a notch, "we're not within that structure anymore and she can't or won't let me in."

Tom feels a genuine empathy with the man sat opposite him. His former C.O. and the woman who he now counts as part of his extended family still has the ability to drive them all slightly crazy with her need for distance. He understands only too well just how hard it is to be shut out of Kathryn's world and clasping his hands, interlocks his fingers while glancing towards the prone figure on the bed and wondering if he'll be able to provide some comfort.

"This is as vulnerable as Kathryn gets, losing the ability to conceal anything, no real control over her body or her emotions. She can't give you the instant disclosure that you want Chakotay, it would just be too much right now. She _will_ talk to you, you're just going to have to be patient."

There follows a long, ponderous silence and when he risks looking up, it is a relief to see the first signs of hope re-emerge and the two unlikely companions share a small smile.

* * *

 _When she wakes again, it is to a darkened version of the same, sterile room. The daytime bustle and uncomfortably bright lights have been replaced with soft illumination and the calmer aura of late evening or perhaps even night-time. Footsteps are softer, staff talk in whispers and even the regular beeping of the monitors seems gentler, more understanding. She finds the altered environment comforting and for the first time wonders just how long she has been here, unconscious, sedated or otherwise._

Tired of her perpetual view of the ceiling and feeling restless, she tests the strength in her arms by attempting to lever herself upwards. Pain shoots through her entire torso, a horribly intense ripple that starts somewhere around her abdomen and stretches right up into her throat. The intensity takes her breath away and before she can control it, her head bounces back onto the pillow, eliciting a low moan that instantly alerts the apparently sleeping figure sat beside her. His dark head snaps up and blinking rapidly, he pulls himself upright in the chair.

"Kathryn?"

Feeling guilty for waking him, she tries and largely fails to bite back another moan as a wave of pain and nausea rises. She turns her head, struggling for the familiar cloak of composure that currently sits just beyond her grasp. But before she thinks to close her eyes again, his finger tugs at her chin, pulling her face back towards him and forcing her to look straight into his eyes.

"It's okay," he says simply. "When you're ready, I'm here."

 _She isn't expecting this from him, far from it. Certain that he can't understand her desire to lock her emotions away, bury them deeply until she can master them with confidence, to retain the illusion of control now more than ever. But somehow the look in his eyes tells her the opposite, that he understands far more than she gives him credit, and that he is simply waiting for her to let him in._ _A large part of her wants to look away, knowing the danger this situation poses. His patience, openness; the love she sees in his eyes, it is all so potentially disarming, but somehow she can't tear her gaze from his._

Slowly and tenderly, Chakotay allows his fingers to stroke the side of her face, smiling a little and she finds herself reaching for him. He leans forward and scoops her upwards, physically lifting her from the bed and pressing her against him. As he plants a kiss on her forehead, he is her protector, her comforter and her soul mate once again and her precarious defences come crashing down around her like a thousand tiny shards of brittle glass. Riding the rollercoaster of surfacing emotions, he cradles her gently in his arms and the consistently stalwart Admiral becomes his Kathryn again, fragile, broken and yet somehow stronger and more beautiful than ever.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - Enjoy the conclusion and if you have the time and the inclination, please review :-)

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Chapter Five 

_._

 _Thirty-Three days._

 _The exact amount of time that has elapsed since she was last here, seven hundred and ninety-two hours if one wanted to be precise and right now a degree of precision seems appropriate, to mark not only the passing of time, but the complexity of the metaphorical road taken; the distance travelled._

 _Just how far she (and by association all of them) have come from that night._

 _This evening she is not sitting on the ledge. Not because she doesn't dare, truth be told she relished the feeling of her legs dangling free in the chilled air that night, such a contrast from her highly constrained life. But because Simeon, (she now knows the name of the tall, dark security guard with the chestnut hair and the slightly over awed expression), has procured a chair._ _They have come to an understanding, she and he. Raised in a family of six, he understands her need for uninterrupted solitude and has placed the rooftop at her disposal anytime she so desires. Touched by his offer and impressed by his technical skill, since he managed to contact her personally, apparently bypassing both her Aide and Starfleet's not so infallible security systems, she has agreed to add her recommendation to his application for a post in the civilian security detail. The signature of a bona fide Admiral he pronounced solemnly, would most certainly make it a done deal._ _S_ _he remains unconvinced, her career as an Admiral thus far having been controversial to say the least, but she is willing to admit that apparently in certain circles, her opinion does carry some weight._

 _It is a symbiosis that well suits them both, his one caveat being that Starfleet Admirals do not sit on walls and instead he has obtained (from where she did not ask) a comfortable lounger. Vaguely colonial in style, similar to a shortened chaise lounge with a curved back and ornate wooden arm rests, the bulk is covered in a soft, synthetic leather, deep burnt umber in colour_ _. Weather permitting, she rests her weary bones (as her mother would say) back into its comfortable contours whenever she feels the need: to be alone, to contemplate; to appreciate._

 _The chair appears as if by an old world magic. She never gives him notice of her arrival and her visits lack any discernible pattern and yet, he seems to have a sixth sense as far as she is concerned._ _The first night she returned, he proudly escorted her to the elevator and upon finding the chair, she saw the note - a single sentence, written on an old fashioned sheet of replicated paper in a bold, yet slightly curved script, made her lips twitch curve into a smile._

 **A superior way to enjoy the view, Admiral.**

 _She sat for an hour, allowing the chill of the air to simultaneously calm her mind yet sharpen her thoughts, mentally drafting a report that she needed for the following morning. Leaving, she placed one hand on his arm by way of thanks, his head dipped slightly in acknowledgement of her gratitude and he then gave a small wink. Belting her coat around her waist, she had almost laughed, recognising that she was probably old enough to be his mother, but instead had managed to stop the mirth at a smile and a slight shake of her head._

 _Tonight, she has returned, leaning back to gaze at the stars, feet resting comfortably, hands clasped in her lap, enjoying her private view of the magnificent skyline while totally invisible to the ever curious, outside world. This is a rare space in which, so Deanna tells her, she is able to take the time for herself._ _During their years spent traversing the Delta Quadrant, she didn't have that luxury, a Captain's first responsibility belonging to her Ship and Crew, it was a necessary sacrifice, b_ _ut then they had all made sacrifices, some far greater than fate had asked of others._

 _She knows each of the names of those who lost their lives, as well as crewmen and officers whose relationships with their spouses, children, parents and friends would never recover. The statistics made for depressing reading: former Voyager crew being twice as likely as Starfleet regulars to have suffered some family breakdown and there were a number who would never set foot on a Starship again._ _But others had fared differently, faced life with a new appreciation, grateful for all they had once thought lost. Exceptional Officers had been born, and the Delta Quadrant technology alone was keeping Starfleet's scientists busier than ever. Their contributions to the Federation had been noted in more journal logs, documents and speeches than she can remember and try as she might, she is unable to discern resentment from her former Crew._

 _They did after all, make it home._

 _And as Deanna reminds her, she had done her level best and although at times her best fell well short of the mark, she can recognise the frailty of the human condition._ _Rightly or wrongly, to destroy the Array was a choice that she made and one she will always take full responsibility for._

 _That is non-negotiable._

 _C_ _urrently however, she choses not to reflect further on a decision that she spent so many hours contemplating it nearly drove her mad. Deanna would be proud, the endless need to punish herself akin to a Klingon with a liking for a painstik, as Tom rather rudely put it, has been firmly relegated to the past._ _As for the future, the fact remains that for so long was her life destined to Starfleet and so deep was and still is her bond to the Organisation, she had not really considered what life would look like afterwards. S_ _he had vague thoughts about a well earned retirement, travelling, seeing the places and people which work had thus far kept her from, but after that, there was nothing._

 _A void._

 _She dislikes voids._

 _Without focus, she is far from her best, at risk of descending to a place that she has seen twice in her life thus far and has no wish to re-visit. What her conversations with Deanna have made her realise is that unlike the voids outside, which considering recent events she should stand an above average chance of being able to bypass for the foreseeable future, the void within cannot be so easily circumvented._

"What does your happily ever after look like?"

 _Deanna had asked on the eve of her discharge from Medical and she had been unable to answer save for a single name which apparently only qualified as a starting point, but which drew a coy smile from the Counselor and a comment about 'those eyes' which she kept between the two of them._

 _And so she continues to piece together the fragments of what, until Ibiriis had seemed like a semblance of a return to normal life, whatever her version of a normal life is. She had her career, a mission, a fine (although admittedly inexperienced) Crew and a chance to put her recently honed diplomatic skills into practice. It was all going according to plan a_ _nd then in the the blink of an eye, she had twenty-eight dead civilians, a treaty that lay in apparent ruins and the walls of what Deanna had termed her invincibility castle had come crashing down._

 _Invincible?_

 _Had she really been that arrogant?_

 _Tipping to rest her head more comfortably against the curve of the chair, she rubs the base of her neck and wonders. Certainly, she hadn't lacked confidence, command not allowing for uncertainty, but had their time in the Delta Quadrant really made her believe she was invincible?_

 _One hand drifts to the centre of her chest; two fingers find the line of the almost invisible scar. She is keenly aware that she is now part of a unique group who have been rebuilt from the inside out, using technology from a species so hell bent on their annihilation that the very mention of their name is still enough to make faces around a briefing table blanche faster than almost anything else._

 _She's not one hundred percent sure how she feels about that._

 _Had the positions been reversed, she'd have made the same decision and she supposes that the messages and flowers that filled her room at Medical was a testimony of some sort to the numbers of people grateful for her recovery._ _But coming around, her initial thought hadn't been gratitude, her first thought once Doctor Swica had explained, had been one of disbelief, after all those years in the wilderness, didn't she deserve some good Karma?_ _Jean-Luc Picard had quickly put paid to that idea, in typical understated style, he had stood by her bed a while before leaving her with his serious smile and a handful of words that cut to the quick._

 _"It's good to see you doing well Admiral. A word to the wise, don't expect the Universe to be grateful Kathryn, take the second chance you have been given and use it wisely."_

 _Now g_ _ranted full clearance to resume full duties, as far as her Starfleet record is concerned, that night had never happened._ _And yet it had._

 _She was never suicidal._

 _She can say that with total, unequivocal honesty, but she had reached a point where something had to give and that night it had._ _She talks Deanna once a month in her and Will's apartment and she is acutely aware that she is only one of a handful of people Deanna ever sees at home. A perk, Deanna said with a rueful smile, of her rank, their fledgling friendship and a professional interest in her Psyche._ _She wasn't entirely comfortable with the latter, but considering the former and that Deanna is an excellent Counselor and replicates passable coffee, she recognises the benefits._

 _Entirely resigned to her fate, she is in this for what Tom would term the long haul. When they have finished their current topic, she suspects they will move on to one of a selection of her other not so fond memories of the last decade, b_ _ut she feels more settled and has more peace in her life than in a long time._ _As always when her thoughts turn to happiness and second chances, she thinks of him, t_ _hey had remained apart for a variety of reasons, some good, some not so, but that didn't negate the hurt that it caused. Their relationship or lack rather thereof, was a point of conflict between the two of them that might never have entirely been resolved, if it hadn't been for Ibiriis._

 _Ibiriis._

 _The Mission may no longer haunt her dreams, but its after effects are far reaching and she has come to recognise the shot of clarity, a perspective that perhaps nothing else could. By far the best thing to have happened to her has sprung from the very worst. Repairing their relationship means more than any pardon, rank or financial compensation ever could, if things had to come full circle, then this is the conclusion that she wants._ _She's not entirely sure what made her wait so long before rectifying the situation, but puts it down to either a misguided sense of justice or as her mother so kindly suggested, 'becoming a woman of a certain age.'_

 _Chakotay is still laughing about that._

She smiles and turns her head at the clang of the door.

Chakotay strolls purposefully towards her across the now familiar terrace. He wears a tailored deep blue suit that fits his frame to perfection, highly polished shoes reflect the light from the roof lamps and a crisp, white shirt contrasts his bronzed skin. His eyes widen with appreciation and tipping his head slightly, he gives her a smile.

"That's a beautiful dress."

She stands, smoothing the material; accepting the gentle kiss planted on her cheek.

"Why thank you _Captain._ "

He slides an arm around her waist. "I love the colour on you _Admiral._ "

Glancing sideways, she rolls her eyes as they start to walk. "You didn't _seriously_ think I'd wear white?"

He laughs easily. "No. But a certain Mr Paris has been running a very popular book on that very question."

She arches an eyebrow in his direction as he holds open the door.

"It's good to know that some things will never change."


End file.
